Page 109 of Big Dick Energy

I grabbed her arm. “Don't.”

“But…”

“Not here. Not now.” I kept my voice low. “I'm not giving them the satisfaction.”

The arena lights dimmed. The crowd erupted, and then the music hit.

Dallas's entrance theme was ridiculous, all heavy bass and dramatic percussion. Pyrotechnics exploded along the entrance ramp, and smoke billowed. The screens lit up with his name.

He emerged from the smoke like some kind of fever dream. The championship belt gleamed around his waist. His hair was slicked back, and his chest glistening under the lights.

The crowd went absolutely insane.

Behind me, Breathy Voice squealed loud enough to damage eardrums. “There he is.”

I watched my husband stride down the ramp, high-fiving fans, playing to the cameras, being the performer he'd trained his whole life to become. When he reached the ring, he climbed the turnbuckle and scanned the crowd…

And found me.

His smirk softened into something that was just for us as he pressed his hand to his chest, then pointed directly at me.

The Jumbotron caught the moment. Twenty thousand people saw Dallas Dodger point into the crowd. The cameras followed his gesture, found our section, and suddenly my face was on a screen the size of a building.

“Holy shit,” Brooke breathed. “You're on the jumbotron.”

“I can see that.” I forced an awkward smile.

Behind us, Breathy Voice had gone very, very quiet.

The match was spectacular.

Dallas and Matt worked together as they faced off against a tag team called The Devastators, two massive men whose entire personality seemed to be angry and shirtless.

I'd watched Dallas's matches before, but watching in person was different. Every slam, every near-fall, every dramatic reversal made my heart leap into my throat.

At one point, Dallas took a hit that sent him crashing to the mat so hard the whole ring shook. I flew out of my seat, gasping as my hand slapped over my mouth. It hit completely differently when you were watching someone you cared about getting tossed around the ring.

Brooke tugged at my arm, pulling me back to my seat.

“He’s okay.”

“I know,” I tried to play it off as I watched Dallas get back on his feet.

The match ended with Dallas executing his signature move, the Dominator Drop, and pinning his opponent for the three-count. The crowd exploded. Confetti rained from the ceiling. Dallas and Matt raised their arms in victory while the arena chanted their names.

“That was amazing,” Brooke admitted. “Don't tell Matt I said that. His ego is already at capacity.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

The lights came up for intermission. Around us, people started moving, heading for the bathrooms, concession stands, and merch tables hawking t-shirts with my husband's face on them.

I was gathering my bag when a voice behind me said, “Holy shit, are you Davina Lawson from Big Girl Panties?” She turned to Brooke. “And you’re Brooke Strickland.”

I turned. The skeptical friend, a brunette with wide eyes and a genuinely starstruck expression, was leaning forward in her seat, practically bouncing with excitement.

“I thought I recognized you! I love your podcast. Like, genuinely love it. The episode about body neutrality? I listened to it like fifteen times.”

Despite everything, I felt myself smile. “Thank you.”